But again he was the first.
They had turned and gone a good way down the long garden, and had again turned towards the house.
"This place makes me feel as I never felt before," he said. "There is such a wonderful sense of vanished life about it. The whole garden seems dreaming about things of long ago--when troops of ladies, now banished into pictures, wandered about the place, each full of her own thoughts and fancies of life, each looking at everything with ways of thinking as old-fashioned as her garments.
I could not be here after nightfall without feeling as if every walk were answering to unseen feet, as if every tree might be hiding some lovely form, returned to dream over old memories."
"Where is the good of fancying what is not true? I can't care for what I know to be nonsense!"
She was glad to find a spot where she could put down the foot of contradiction, for she came of a family known for what the neighbours called common sense, and in the habit of casting contempt upon everything characterized as superstition: she had now something to say for herself!
"How do you know it is nonsense?" asked Donald, looking round in her face with a bright smile.
"Not nonsense to keep imagining what nobody can see?"
"I can only imagine what I do not see."
"Nobody ever saw such creatures as you suppose in any garden! Then why fancy the dead so uncomfortable, or so ill looked after, that they come back to plague us!"
"Plainly they have never plagued you much!" rejoined Donal laughing.
"But how often have you gone up and down these walks at dead of night?"
"Never once," answered Miss Graeme, not without a spark of indignation. "I never was so absurd!"
"Then there may be a whole night-world that you know nothing about.
You cannot tell that the place is not then thronged with ghosts: you have never given them a chance of appearing to you. I don't say it is so, for I know nothing, or at least little, about such things.
I have had no experience of the sort any more than you--and I have been out whole nights on the mountains when I was a shepherd."
"Why then should you trouble your fancy about them?"
"Perhaps just for that reason."
"I do not understand you."
"I mean, because I can come into no communication with such a world as may be about me, I therefore imagine it. If, as often as I walked abroad at night, I met and held converse with the disembodied, I should use my imagination little, but make many notes of facts. When what may be makes no show, what more natural than to imagine about it? What is the imagination here for?"
"I do not know. The less one has to do with it the better."
"Then the thing, whatever it be, should not be called a faculty, but a weakness!"
"Yes."
"But the history of the world shows it could never have made progress without suggestions upon which to ground experiments: whence may these suggestions come if not from the weakness or impediment called the imagination?"
Again there was silence. Miss Graeme began to doubt whether it was possible to hold rational converse with a man who, the moment they began upon anything, went straight aloft into some high-flying region of which she knew and for which she cared nothing. But Donal's unconscious desire was in reality to meet her upon some common plane of thought. He always wanted to meet his fellow, and hence that abundance of speech, which, however poetic the things he said, not a few called prosiness.
"I should think," resumed Miss Graeme, "if you want to work your imagination, you will find more scope for it at the castle than here! This is a poor modern place compared to that."
